Sax Rohmer
by arachnophilia
Summary: Sequel to Red. While Matt attempts to simultaneously move on with his life and hang on to Peter as long as possible, Peter fights to return to life as he knew it. Peter/Matt, Matt/Felicia, rated for language and sexuality.
1. Prologue

It's been almost nine months.

Matt still misses Peter. Of course he does. How can he not? He's homesick for him. The apartment doesn't feel the same without him, doesn't smell right. When he lost Karen, at least her scent wasn't everywhere, but Peter lived here. All his stuff is still here. Matt flat-out refused to get rid of it; he's become a hoarder, broken one too many times and unwilling to let go. He's already lost so many lovers to death---Elektra, Heather, Glorianna, _Karen_---and this is just too much. He's kept everything, right down to Peter's underwear and socks.

It's kind of weird. That's what his girlfriend says, anyway, but she hasn't asked him to get rid of anything, either, so it's moot.

Life is as back to normal as it will ever get. Sometimes people will ask him questions about Peter, but it's been a while and he's already given whatever answers he feels like. A lot of his clients will lament Spider-Man's death, some will apologize to him to what he lost. There are unauthorized biographies of Spider-Man all over the place, collections of stories written by people inspired by Spider-Man, a few slam novels here or there. For the most part, Peter's surviving friends and family is pretty staunch on not giving interviews, especially the other superheroes. Almost everything published that isn't a first person account is a lot of guesswork.

It's been a long day. Successful case, but a long day. Actually, it's been kind of a long few weeks. He lost a good employee recently to a car accident and without any relatives in the state to take care of her son, Matt stepped in to deal with the legal parts instead. The kid left for New Jersey today, off to live with his aunt and uncle who own a biological research facility. He didn't want to leave the city, but there's nowhere for him to go and besides, he wants to be a biologist, right? He'll learn there.

Matt comes home tired, flopping down on the couch. His girlfriend is in the apartment, even though the door was locked when he came in. Might've come in through the window, Matt really doesn't care. She's here now, and when he sits, he hears her footsteps coming from the bedroom to the living room. She runs her fingers through her hair, pulling all of it over one shoulder before she approaches.

"Hey, handsome. You look exhausted." Hands find Matt's shirt just before she lowers herself onto the couch, straddling him and resting on her knees.

"Long day. Kid's off to Jersey." Matt sets his cane aside, running his hands down her sides, resting on her ass. He leans in, pressing his nose to her sheet and inhaling deeply. It's Peter's shirt and still smells like him; Matt likes her better when she smells like Peter. If he's with her for her or in love with her, he hasn't said as much.

To be fair, it goes both ways. There's no love in the way she leans down to kiss him, but there's lust there, and a mutual need for human comfort, so it all works out. They're attracted to each other. Matt leans up into the kiss, her hair brushing across one side of his face. She always smells good, in her way, and he imagines that she's beautiful. And if she's not----he slides his hands up, giving her breasts an affectionate squeeze. If she's not she certainly _feels_ like it.

She grins, moving her hips and rubbing against his lap. "So I guess I'm sticking around today."

"Yeah." Matt reaches back down for her hips, holding her down against him and pushing up. She has full hips and legs for miles and he _loves_ it. He adored Peter but ... fuck, he loves women. Matt Murdock loves women. "You're sticking around, Felicia."

* * *

Jordan Harrison is none too happy to be in New Jersey, but he's none too happy anywhere right now. Life had just gotten bad when Mr. Parker had been fired and worse and worse after that. His death really devastated Jordan and he was a bit of a trouble student when he started school in September. Belligerent, uncooperative, slacking in his science class, using the excuse that it's physics and not biology so what the fuck does he need it for?

And then ... then his mother died. Killed by a criminal fleeing the scene in a stolen car. The kind of thing that Spider-Man would have stopped in a minute. Jordan's never met his aunt and uncle for reasons he'd never gotten around to asking his mom, and now he never would.

They're ... eh, they're nice people. Ish. Scientists, which is cool and everything, except his mom is dead so who the hell cares? They have a little baby at home that they adopted a year and a half before, a girl named Karen with a big mop of blonde hair. Nice enough. They've already got their nice marriage and baby makes three and blah blah blah, Jordan feels like an intruder. They're trying, though.

Uncle Elliot is showing him around the facility now. They live in what seems to Jordan like the middle of nowhere, no neighbors in sight, and their research facility is practically in their back yard. It's a small place, out of the way and rarely makes big discoveries. They're just not in a place where bizarre things and miracles happen.

Well. Until now.

"---and here. In here, this is the exciting room, Jordan." His uncle pauses in front of the door. "This is top secret, okay? I'm showing you this because we're friends. We got this one from New York. They want it kept really hush-hush."

Jordan frowns. "Why would some hotshot scientists in New York outsource to Jersey?"

"It's ... well. It's probably because they're afraid it's actually some kind of monster and would rather it terrorize the Jersey countryside than the city," Uncle Elliot admits.

"...Huh?"

"Here, let me show you." Uncle Elliot unlocks the door, letting Jordan go in in front of him.

Jordan steps in and his mouth drops open. Inside the room is a giant cocoon---or is it an egg sac? Does it matter? The same thing he found almost five months ago. He'd called the police afterward and no one had told him what happened to it. The point is, it's here, and Jordan decides to pretend he's never seen it before.

"_Wow_."

"Isn't it amazing? We've had it for months and it seems to be growing. You want to see the ultrasounds? Come on, I'll show you---"

As Uncle Elliot leads Jordan to the table with all of his papers, Jordan looks back, up at the egg sac. The light in the room is bright, and the ever so faint outline of a person is resting in the middle of the sac, bigger than what Jordan remembers from all those months ago. Just as he's looking, the thing inside shifts like it's stretching, pressing against the side of the sac, outlining a pair of hands.

Like whatever is in there is ready to be out.


	2. Sweaters

Jordan's not taking to school the way his aunt and uncle had hoped. To be honest, he prefers to stay home. It's only been a few weeks, after all. He's still adjusting to life without his _mom_. Elliot and Chava are good people, and their daughter is cute, but Chava isn't his mother. Jordan tends to avoid her as a rule. She's all ... blonde and pretty and Jewish and all wrong. He's taken to Karen, though. Kind of. Seeing as she doesn't really talk yet, she's the most tolerable.

He likes to trail after Elliot sometimes, but Elliot's trying too hard. Jordan's never really met him before now, but apparently Elliot had been close with his mother at some point, devastated now that she's gone even if they didn't talk anymore. Jordan doesn't know how to handle that---or anyone's grief but his own, really. After going to the labs a couple of times with Elliot, Jordan goes alone, slipping out the back door at night.

It's so peaceful, just him and the science. He tends to be there after dark, and ... yeah, all right, so he stole the keys. He totally stole the keys. He had to! Two weeks after moving in, Jordan's taken a peek at just about every project in the facility (though to be fair, it's a small place and there isn't much). He reads them like mystery novels, devouring every new piece of information and let down when there isn't any.

The room with the giant cocoon is always the very last one. It's amazing; there are piles and piles of information on it, tracking the growth of whatever's inside. Ultrasounds and records of an ever-strengthening heartbeat, samples of the fluids they've managed to extract, analysis of the outside webbing.

Jordan is set up on the floor, reading through the latest observational report of the cocoon. The thing inside is growing and moving more than ever. It's like waiting for a butterfly, wondering what sort of beautiful thing will come out.

He's reverently touching the paper when a sound makes him _jump_. He looks up to see something _red_ dripping off the cocoon. Jordan scrambles to stand, closing up the folder and nearly dropping it. There's a tear near the top of the cocoon that looks like it's dripping blood; something pushes on the inside and the tear widens, gradually trailing down to the bottom. More of the blood spills out onto the floor and Jordan feels his heart stop.

There's a sudden large _gush_ and something falls, smacking the floor hard. It coughs, gasping for breath. Whatever it is, it's human-shaped, it has lungs, and it's completely covered in blood. Jordan backs away, running into the counter with a gasp.

It pushes itself up far enough to rest on its elbow, the other hand hitting the ground with a sickening squelch. There's more coughing, forcing out fluid, and it _groans_. It sounds male. The thing is male.

There's a rough, uncomfortable noise from his throat, like he's _trying_ to speak and it isn't working. Jordan is completely overwhelmed with fear, wanting to cry or scream and unable to. The thing clears his throat and finally grumbles something that sounds like, "_Ow_."

He wipes at his eyes with his blood-covered hand. It doesn't work. He groans again, laying down on the floor with a defeated grunt. When he speaks again, it's a bit more intelligible and more like: "Great. I hurt. I'm naked. And I'm covered in goo."

Jordan squints, takes a cautious step closer. The voice sounds familiar, but he just can't place it.

"Freakin'... tarantula spider... _ow_." He's trying to push himself up, but his arms don't seem to want to hold him up, and he falters. "Ugh. I squish in parts that shouldn't squish---"

Holy _shit_. "Mr. _Parker_?"

The thing lifts his head and tries to dig blood out of his ear. "What? Who's there? I'd open my eyes but I'm covered in gook."

"Jordan. Jordan Harrison, it's Jordan Harrison." It's Mr. Parker! Or his voice, anyway. "You've been in that cocoon for, like, _months_ and---"

"Whoa, whoa. Um. How about I get not-naked and then you can explain all this to me, okay?" A pause, and: "All right, maybe a shower is in order."

Jordan just _stares_ at first, before he shakes his head. Wake up, Jordan! This is real! It's happening! And _you_ have to help, stop staring. Jordan carefully approaches, his sneakers squishing in the blood. Now that he's closer, it's clear it's not just blood. It's too thick, more like mucus than anything. It's probably akin to amniotic fluid, but they'll have to do more tests.

"Okay, um. There's a chemical shower thing. That'll work for now, and I'll try to find stuff." Mr. Parker seems about Uncle Elliot's size. Jordan gingerly touches Mr. Parker's arm, grimacing when the fluid squishes under his fingers. He steels himself, taking Mr. Parker's arm and helping him up---which is more difficult than it sounds. The bloody fluid is slippery and Mr. Parker's body is weak and heavy. Jordan nearly drops him, but eventually they find a comfortable place with Mr. Parker leaning against him and walking carefully away from the giant puddle. Blinded, Mr. Parker is completely dependent on him, and Jordan's quiet, focusing on getting him to the shower in the next room.

The water pressure is too hard for real comfort, meant to quickly wash chemicals out of a person's eyes or off their skin. But it gets the job done, and Jordan leaves him there to clean off, not wanting to ... see things.

Instead, he sneaks back to the house. His clothes are sticky and gross, but he just has to live with that. He ditches his socks and sneakers outside and creeps back in, propping the door open so it doesn't slam. It's only April and still chilly. Jordan's shivering as he pads into the basement, grabbing some clothes out of the laundry basket and tucking them into a plastic bag. He'll tell his aunt and uncle in the morning, but it's ... what, one AM? Yeah. He's not gonna get them up just yet.

And maybe he likes having a secret. He doesn't _want_ to tell them; he wants time with Mr. Parker first, if that _is_ him. So he shoves his feet back in his shoes and makes his way back to the facility, covering his eyes when he opens the door to the room with the shower.

Jordan pauses when he hears Mr. Parker whistling something that sounds like "New York, New York", and he has to smile. Yeah. That's him. He's back to life and Jordan has to take care of him. He can do this. Lowering the bag onto the floor in the room, he calls, "I brought you stuff! I'll be right outside."

"Thanks, kiddo!" Peter calls back. "I want to be a part of it, New York, New Yooooork---"

For the first time in weeks, Jordan actually feels optimistic. He's excited for something, and he feels _hope_. All this, and he doesn't even remember that Mr. Parker turned out to be Spider-Man. He's just, you know ... Mr. Parker. He'll have to share this with his uncle in the morning and take samples of the fluid, but right now Mr. Parker is back.

"Well, it's not Versace, but it'll work." Mr. Parker comes back out, tugging on the end of Uncle Elliot's shirt and leaning against the wall. It looks a little tight on him, to be honest, but beggars can't be choosers. If Jordan's not mistaken, he looks a little bigger, in a buff, He-Man sort of sense. "You'll have to excuse me, rebirth makes my legs go all wobbly."

Jordan blinks. "So you know what happened?"

"Kiiiiinda. How about you tell me what's happened and then I'll work on freaking out after that."

* * *

"Five _months_? I've been out for _five months_?"

Jordan nods, and then chews on his lip. "Well. It could be longer than that. Uncle Elliot's just had you for five months."

Peter mutters something to himself, running a hand through his wet hair. "Wait, what's today's date?"

"By now?" Jordan makes a face. "Apriiiil seventeenth? Oh-nine."

"Oh, God," he breathes, covering his eyes and counting in his head. He'd died around Matt's birthday, so this was seven, eight... nine months. "Nine months _and_ I missed my birthday."

"Happy birthday," Jordan answers automatically. Peter smiles despite himself.

"I have to get back, kiddo. I can't stay in Jersey." It's the only answer he has. He's taken in a lot all at once right now; Jordan's told him everything that happened after he died, about his identity out, about the fame and the books and the way Matt was treated by the public. How Jordan had found the cocoon and called the police, and the police had given it to a university, who had given it to Jordan's uncle. About his mother's death (which had prompted Peter to reach over and give him a soggy hug). The only reaction that Peter has is that he needs to go _home_. "Much as I'd love to hang around, you know? I have to get to my aunt and Matt."

"Do you really think they'll just let you leave?" Part of it is because Jordan doesn't want Peter to go, but ... well, he's _dead_. "I mean, I have to tell my uncle, we can figure out what happened and... and you can't just _go_, you know? You've been gone too long. I've seen TV, I know what happens."

"I can't _stay_. I mean, it feels like I just left a day or two ago, not ... not _nine months_. I have to try." He has to get to Matt and make sure he's all right. Peter's seen what happen when Matt loses people. It's not pretty; he can't be alone.

"You don't have a car. Or, like, money. Or clothes or food or _anything_. And I don't drive, or have money, or anything." Jordan makes a face. Why is Peter so eager to get away from him? "Just stay for a while...? Stay for a little while. We'll get everything worked out, they might even send you home, you know?"

Peter mirrors Jordan's expression, but he relents. "You're right, kid. But I can't stay long, you understand?"

Jordan grins. "You'll be my first friend out here. Or something. Does it count if we've already met?"

Peter shrugs. "Does it matter? I just fell out of a giant spider cocoon."

"Good point."

* * *

Peter's old Empire State sweater still smells just like him. Matt tries to touch it as little as possible; he wants the scent to last, and besides, Felicia is here. He should pay more attention to her. Still, while she's in his shower, he opens the closet and presses a sleeve to his nose, inhaling like it's a drug.

He takes too long. Felicia comes back, damp with humidity, a towel tucked under her arms. Instead of getting jealous or trying to move his attention, she says, "I wish I could smell it."

"No, you don't," Matt murmurs. "It's torture. It's worse."

"It's something, though."

Matt makes a noise, sliding the coat hanger away from him, saving the sweater. Preserving the scent. He feels for another sweater that smells like Peter, offering it to Felicia, who takes it without a word and buries her face in it. Holding it like a child's teddy bear. Dropping her towel, Felicia tugs it over her head, pretending for a moment that Peter is still there, that she's wearing his sweater because he thinks it's cute and sexy. He wore this one when he was sick once, all cuddled up and helpless and needing someone to coddle him because he was so overtaken with the flu that he could barely move. One of the healthiest men she knew, and every once in a while his big tough spider-body succumbed to influenza. It had been times like that she was reminded he was only human, more human than she would ever think.

"I was no good for him," Matt says suddenly, sliding his arms around her and pressing his nose to her shoulder.

"Eh. Neither was I," Felicia breathes, letting Matt gently guide her back toward the bed. "We probably expected too much of ourselves."

"Probably." He kisses her neck, turning her around and bending her down over the bed with a hand between her shoulder blades. Felicia lets him, shuddering when he trails his nose down her spine, inhaling the remains of Peter's scent and kissing the curve of her hip. One hand spreads her thighs a bit, his fingers trailing through the dampness between her legs before he teases her ass. There are some times, if she's wearing Peter's sweater and he pays attention to this instead of her cunt, he can almost hear Peter again.


	3. Black Balloon

Uncle Elliot had nearly passed out when he saw the strange man in his labs, wearing his clothes and sleeping a few feet away from the remains of the cocoon. Jordan had reluctantly snuck back into the house about an hour before his uncle's alarm went off in the morning, so when Elliot came to wake him up, he was barely responsive.

"Jordan. _Jordan_---!" Elliot shakes him by the shoulder. In his half-asleep stupor, Jordan can't tell if Elliot's upset with him or excited. Jordan _groans_, having just fallen into an uneasy sleep. "You have to see this, come on."

Jordan mumbles something intelligible and goes about dragging himself out of bed. He can't even feign surprise; he's too busy trying to find the arm holes in his shirt. Ambling out of his room, he nearly runs into a bleary-eyed Chava, her hair in messy, floppy pigtails, her arms full of baby. She piles Karen into Jordan's arms and jogs to catch up with Elliot, looking particularly silly in her fuzzy pink slippers and her rubber duck bathrobe.

Jordan looks down at the sleepy baby in his arms and tries to resent her. He can't. It's not her fault her mother keeps unloading her on him, and having her is an excuse to walk a bit slower. She's almost two and getting a little heavy, her thick blonde hair perpetually messy. He knows that Mr. Murdock is the reason that Elliot and Chava have Karen, but he never asked for specifics and doesn't seem to care much.

Following despite the urge to just go and curl up in bed again, Jordan holds Karen in one arm to let himself into the labs. He's immediately met with Elliot excitedly describing the situation to Chava---outside the room, like he doesn't want to wake up whatever's in there just yet. They're excited in the way only scientists can get excited, talking about Mr. Parker like he's some kind of animal. Normally Jordan would relate. Now, he can only think of Mr. Parker insisting he has to go home, and hearing his aunt and uncle discuss blood tests and mental capacity is making him sick.

They're so wrapped up in each other that they don't notice when Jordan slips around them and into the room ahead of them. Mr. Parker is curled up on the floor with the pillow that Elliot keeps in the labs in case he needs to doze off while he's there. He's peaceful and Jordan hates to wake him, but he knows it's best.

Lowering himself to his knees, Jordan sits back on his heels, keeping his firm grip on Karen (who's dozing and drooling on his nightshirt) while he shakes Mr. Parker gently with the other hand. "Sir...? Come on. You have to get up."

Mr. Parker lazily swats at him, making a face in his sleep. He mutters something that vaguely sounds like 'Matt', but Jordan can't be sure. Reluctantly opening his eyes, Mr. Parker shoves hair away from his face and sits up with an uncomfortable groan.a

"The floor was starting to feel soft, kiddo. What time is it?"

"Too early. Uncle Elliot and Aunt Chava are awake. Elliot found you; he's out in the hall warning her that you might be a ravenous monster and stuff right now."

Mr. Parker chuckles. "Oh, absolutely. One wrong look at me and _chomp_, you're gone."

It's actually kind of comforting that Mr. Parker still has his sense of humor. Karen is stirring against his chest, screwing up her face. It's a little chilly out here and she's only in her pjs; of course she's cold. Mr. Parker cocks his head, lightly touching her back.

"Karen, right?"

"Yeah." Jordan half-heartedly bounces her, recognizing the noises she's making and trying to stop her from crying before she starts. "Mr. Murdock brought her here, did I tell you that?"

For some reason, that makes Mr. Parker pause. "No," he says softly. "You didn't." When Karen starts to whine, he offers his hands. "May I?"

Jordan hesitates, but then he's carefully passing over the squirming toddler. There's something incredibly gentle about the way Mr. Parker handles her. Jordan can't place it, but whatever it is, it's calmed her, happy being held by him, warm and safe. For some reason, Jordan's only seeing Spider-Man at that moment.

"Small world," Mr. Parker murmurs. "Really small world. You don't even remember me." Karen's so tired it his voice must just seem like a comforting rumble, rather than actual words.

Jordan frowns. "From where?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you soon, I promise."

Sitting cross-legged, Mr. Parker gently rocks Karen. They sit in relative silence for a bit, Jordan content to enjoy the quiet. For the first time since his mother's death, everything seems all right again. A part of him wants to be like Karen and curl up next to Mr. Parker; he used to pretend that Mr. Parker was secretly his dad, that he was really a secret agent who just couldn't be with them because it was too dangerous. Turns out Mr. Parker really is like a secret agent, but that doesn't make him Jordan's dad.

They're jarred out of the quiet by Chava's scared, "Oh my God! Karen!"

Peter looks up, protectively covering Karen's head. "Shh! Just got her to sleep. Please don't yell."

Elliot, looking over Chava's shoulder, gapes. "He can talk."

"Well... _yeah_." Mr. Parker looks perplexed at the assertion, to say the least. "I can do cartwheels, too."

"Karen----_Jordan_----" Chava is almost panicking, like she doesn't want to get close because she doesn't know what he _is_. Jordan is just sitting there, he's so _trusting_, and Karen is asleep but clearly alive, squirming and burying her face in Mr. Parker's chest.

"Aunt Chava, it's okay," Jordan promises, scrambling to stand. "He's fine. He won't hurt us. I came out here the other night when it, y'know, hatched, and I got him the clothes and everything and---"

"You didn't come _get us_?" Elliot says incredulously, like Karen's safety didn't even cross his.

"He needed help! I couldn't leave him here all covered in that cocoon junk. It's cold; he was naked and tired and all ... re-born and stuff."

Chava looks _horrified_. "You saw him naked?!"

"No! No, there was all the stuff and, and---"

"But he was naked. A full-grown man----!"

"Was just dumped on my head out of a giant spider egg sac," Peter interjects, carefully standing without jostling Karen too much. "Those things don't exactly come with Fruit of the Loom, lady."

"Aunt Chava, it's _Mr. Parker_!" Jordan says desperately.

Whatever tirade Chava was about to go on is derailed in favor of confusion. "Who?"

"Mr. Parker." Duh. "..._Spider-Man_."

"Spider-Man died," Elliot says dumbly, knowing it's contradictory even as he says it.

Mr. Parker shrugs, almost apologetically. "Well, obviously not. Anymore, anyway, I mean, if I was in a cocoon, I might not have been technically dead, but what do I know? Look, um, I know we're all busy gaping at how impossible I am, but I am really, _really_ hungry, so could we maybe finish this discussion over eggs and bacon or something?"

Maybe none of it is sinking it. Maybe Mr. Parker is just seems so harmless or kind or approachable, but Chava ventures forward. She's ready to snatch Karen away, and she's taken aback when the baby is just handed to her without a fight. Taking a deep breath, Chava nods. "Okay. Let's go inside and hear this ... explanation. And then we'll freak out."

* * *

Everything is indeed explained over bacon. Lots and lots of bacon. It turns out that Mr. Parker has a monster of an appetite and evenly divides his time between eating like he (hah) hasn't eaten in nine months and explaining how he died. It's all a fantastic story, and while Jordan is like a kid being told a particularly interesting bedtime story, Chava and Elliot are watching him with scientist eyes. After the initial upset, Chava began to resemble her husband, looking him over like he's an experiment. It's like the energy in the room is being transferred, Mr. Parker becoming more and more alive as he speaks and Chava and Elliot are ... well, they're getting a little freaky and Mr. Parker doesn't seem to see it.

"---and it _blows my mind_ that apparently everyone likes me now that I'm dead...? I mean, regardless, I have to go home, Matt's probably done something stupid---he probably ran off and got married or something, he _would_ do something like that, I have to make sure he's handling himself, that man is _not_ good at being alone---"

"Wait wait wait wait." Elliot holds up his hand. "Did you say 'go home'?"

Mr. Parker stops with his glass of orange juice halfway to his mouth. "Well... yeah. You guys are great, but... well. No offense. Really really no offense, but New York is my home."

"But---but we need to do _tests_," Chava protests. "We can't just let you walk off like that."

"Miss, some of my best friends are the smartest scientists on the _planet_. I'm none too shabby myself. I'm grateful for what you've done, I am, but I have responsibilities to other people." He's visually struggling, not wanting to seem like an ingrate but clearly itching to go back to Matt and his other friends in New York.

"But... Mr. Parker, you don't _exist_."

Jordan can see Mr. Parker's mood shifting. It's in little things, his brow furrowing a touch, the edges of his mouth turning down. He sits up a tad straighter. The way that was said had been... wrong, and Mr. Parker was finally picking up on it. "...Excuse me?"

"We're just stating a fact," Elliot adds in the same tone. How dare you think of leaving, Mr. Parker. "You have nothing. Everything you were is gone; you're deceased."

"Uh huh." Mr. Parker shifts his weight. "People come back from the dead sometimes. It's not like this is new, all things considered."

"You're property of the labs---for now," Elliot tacks on, like he's trying to seem more compassionate. "Just let us run our tests and we'll get in contact with someone who can help you get back to normal."

Mr. Parker twitches. It's small and leaves Jordan wondering if he actually saw it, but it was there. But Mr. Parker smiles and for all the world looks like he's complying. "All right. I'll give it a chance."

Chava smiles, and that wrong feeling has disappeared, like a switch. "Why don't we set up the guest bedroom for you. You can get some sleep in a real bed and when everyone up we'll start the test."

"Groovy."

* * *

Jordan didn't go back to sleep.

After breakfast, Chava went to set up the guest room and Elliot took Karen back to bed before heading out to the lab to get samples of the cocoon and the thick red fluid that was inside of it. With Mr. Parker in the room with Chava, Jordan has a precious few moments alone to do something he never thought he would.

By the time Elliot gets back and everyone else is ready to settle back in to take back the hours of sleep lost to all the excitement, Jordan seems completely out. For a while.

Mr. Parker needs to sleep. He needs food, he needs to adjust, but he can't stay here, as much as Jordan wants him to. He's seen enough TV to know how this ends; they can't help that his aunt and uncle got samples of the cocoon, but Jordan can't let them get a blood sample.

And they say a sci fi education isn't good for kids.

When he goes to Mr. Parker's room, Mr. Parker ... isn't there. Peeking in, Jordan can see the bed probably wasn't even touched. There's a moment of panic, dashing down the stairs and irrationally afraid that something had _happened_---

But there's Mr. Parker in the kitchen, pulling on a pair of sneakers. Apparently, they'd had the same idea.

"You're not gonna get very far like that," Jordan says quietly.

Mr. Parker looks up, surprised. "Jordan. Go back to bed." He makes a shooing motion. "Don't get in trouble because of me."

"Don't tell me what to do," Jordan replies rebelliously. "Besides, I got you something you need." He dangles a large baggie before tossing it.

Mr. Parker catches it, peeling it open and gasping. "_Jordan_. You stole this."

"_So_? You need cash. They're not gonna let you leave and you know it---and if they do, it'll be in cuffs and handing you over to the government. Stealing money is so not worse than what they'd do to you." When Mr. Parker makes a guilty face, Jordan adds, "What, were you gonna walk to New York? This is better. I have my permit, so I'd try to drive, but someone could ID the car."

"You watch cop shows, don't you?"

"Well ... yeah, but that's so not the point. You have to go, and I have to help you, 'cause ... I mean, I have nothing else." Jordan shrugs. "You're all I've got left of the city. And they... they _need_ you, Mr. Parker. Way more than I do. You've got family and stuff."

Peter takes a deep breath, reluctantly pulling the money out of the bag. It's a rainy day stash, meant to keep the Harrisons in house and home for months in case anything happened. It's more than enough to get him home and then some. He tucks it in his pocket and stands, going to Jordan and pulling him into a tight, protective hug. Jordan melts into it, almost whimpering. Mr. Parker's body is strong and solid and warm, and it reminds him of the hugs his mother used to give him. He smells different and his hands are bigger, but the same feeling is there and it's something Jordan desperately needs.

"I'd take you with me if I could," Mr. Parker promises.

"I know," Jordan breathes. "It's okay, Mr. Parker."

"Thank you. ...And it's Peter. I'm not your teacher anymore."

Jordan pauses and pretends he doesn't feel like crying. "...'Kay." He pulls back, scratching his nose to keep from wiping at it. "The bikes are in the garage. I hang my backpack on mine; if you just..." He stops a sniffle. "Dump my backpack and take Uncle Elliot's, it'll look like you just ransacked it."

Peter nods. "Okay." He ruffles Jordan's hair, just like Jordan likes to imagine his dad would've. "I'll be back eventually, I promise."

"_Go_, already." Jordan makes shooing motions. "I need to go back to bed before they get up."

"Take care of yourself," Peter says softly, nodding one more time before leaving, his footsteps almost silent. Jordan doesn't even hear the door open and close.

Jordan sucks in a big breath, torn between pride in himself and devastation. He's alone again, but he did the _right thing_. It's what Mr. Parker---what _Peter_ would've done in his position. Turning, Jordan goes up the stairs as quickly and quietly as he can, throwing himself on his bed and jamming a pillow over his head, pretending he isn't crying.


	4. Long Way To Happy

Peter doesn't like this fugitive thing. It's really not very glamorous.

He bikes to New York City and it takes most of the day. He'd briefly considered taking the train, but he'd decided he was far too paranoid. Jordan's aunt and uncle will find he's gone in the morning and probably call the police. The ferry would have been a great deal faster, but at least on the road there's somewhere to hide, he can veer off the path and still get where he's going. Doubtless the police would call their friends in New York and stake out the Manhattan terminal while he was on the boat; Elliot and Chava had gone to bed jittery and wouldn't stay asleep for very long. Maybe Peter was being overly cautious, but better safe than sorry, really.

Peter's surprised to find how _strong_ he's gotten---stronger, more like. He keeps a steady pace and his legs don't really tire. What would have been a fifteen hour walk turns into a seven hour or so bike ride, stopping only to buy maps and food. It also means a lot of time alone, time to think, time to run over what's happened to him in the past twenty-four hours.

A new lease on life, obviously, but at what cost? Peter vividly remembers the strange dreams he had in the cocoon, the giant tarantula (god?) playing his life and failings out before his eyes and offering him a second chance, if only he would embrace the spider within. Whatever _that_ means. All Peter knows is that he reached out for the spider and in the next instant, he was being reborn and hitting the floor. He doesn't entirely know what to make of it or what embracing the spider with entail. Chances are he'll find out later in the worst possible way, as per usual. All he knows is that he's stronger and faster now, his reaction time is better, he _feels_ better. He feels so _alive_.

It's afternoon when he gets to New York City. The air is chilly but not _cold_, and as far as Peter's concerned, it's the perfect day. The skies are looking a little gray and he's sure it will rain, but he should be home by then, right? Back home, back with Matt, safe and alive.

The City is such a sight for sore eyes, and Peter is _shocked_ to see more than one bookstore displaying Spider-Man: The Unofficial Biography of a Hero. Cheesy, sure, and with a picture that Peter had taken himself on the cover, but ... well. Peter can't resist. He stops his bike near a magazine vendor that seems to be carrying the book, keeping one hand on a handlebar and taking the book. The vendor glances at him---and does a double-take when Peter isn't looking.

"Well look at that," Peter breathes, reading the foreword---by _Tony Stark_. He doesn't make it to the actual substance of the book because he can feel his eyes burning. Don't cry in public, Peter. He looks up at the vendor, who seems to be pointedly looking away. "Hey. Excuse me."

The man grunts before looking back over, like he doesn't want to meet Peter's eyes. "Can I help you...?"

Peter digs around in his pocket and pulls out a couple of twenties. "Here. I want this."

The vendor watches Peter carefully, glancing up while he makes change. Counting out the ones and fives into Peter's hand, he frowns like Peter's done something to offend him until he grunts, "You look just like that kid in the book."

Peter's stunned silent for a moment. Then he shakes his head, tucking the money into his pocket. "Um. I just got here, I'm new. Must be a coincidence."

The vendor doesn't seem to believe him, but he explains anyway, "He was the city's hero. Died almost a year back and this place's never been the same. The hope's gone out of a lot of people. You're lucky we just got that in; those books sell out like lightning."

"Really?" People love him. They miss him. Peter can hardly believe it.

The man nods solemnly. "People buy books like that because they miss someone. Need that little bit of reminding of when life was less scary. See it all the time."

"Oh. Well. ...Thanks." Peter nods, feeling kind of awkward, and shoves the book in his bag. Ducking away, he goes back to his bike, embarrassed for one reason for another. He's a celebrity now, the kind of person people _miss_. He's not sure how to handle that.

All he can think to do is find Matt. He needs _Matt_. By now he's starting to tire, especially with how little sleep he'd had the night before and he just wants to be home. Peter is thankful for the bike, coasting a good deal of the way into Clinton. If anyone will know it's really Peter, it's Matt. After going through so much---with Skrulls and clones and lookalikes---Peter needs to go to someone who will know his heart, his scent, the very way he _breathes_.

So he goes to the law firm first. Matt should be here this time of day, and Peter ditches the bike by the stoop and dashes to the door, bursting in.

"Matt---!"

Foggy and Becky turn to stare, and Foggy's mouth drops open. Like he can't believe it, and he sputters, "Can I help you---?"

"I need to see Matt---Foggy, it's me. It's Peter, you're not seeing things." Peter moves to go over to him before he hears Matt's office door open, which makes him turn. "Matt!"

Peter impulsively goes to Matt and kisses him hard on the mouth---at least until Matt _shoves_ him back. "Matt, what the---"

"Who the hell are you?" Matt snaps. "You've got balls if you think you can walk in here and pretend you're Peter. _Who are you?!_"

Peter takes a shocked step back, his stomach dropping. "What? Come on, don't you recognize me?" He's going to be sick. He's going to be sick all over the office floor, oh God.

"Even his _clones_ did a better impression that you do," Matt spits.

"Matt." Foggy doesn't sound like he knows what to think or what to say or how to say it. "It looks just like him..."

"Doesn't matter! I know Peter's heartbeat, I know the way he _smells_, and this is _not Peter!_ Get out."

Peter, at a loss, moves toward Matt. "Matt, please. I can explain." Even as he does it, he knows this is a bad idea. Matt is stiff with rage and what seems like grief. But he can calm down, Peter can explain, and then he can go home. "Extraordinary things happened, you have to understand---"

In the next instant, Matt's fist is flying at him. Before, at such close range, and with a person he trusts so much, that blow would have landed. Now, Peter reacts almost as Matt cocks his fist back, ducking and dodging by almost a foot. Matt half-stumbles forward, clearly surprised that he missed, and that seems to just enrage him.

"GET OUT!"

"All right, all right, all right---!" Peter stumbles back, ashamed and devastated. "All right, I'm out---!" He turns, running into another body on the way out. His vision is clouded with white for a moment before he pulls back and sees--- "Felicia!"

"_Peter_?" Felicia is stunned, staring at him until Matt grabs her arm and drags her away, crushing her to his body. Peter doesn't really have time to digest the possessive way he touches her because Matt's snapping again.

"It's not Peter. He's a fake, maybe the Chameleon or something. I said _get out!_"

Peter glances at them one last time and leaves, feeling Felicia's eyes on his back as he walks away, his face red with shame and tears he'll later tell himself were never there.

Just his luck, isn't it? New lease on life, indeed.

* * *

Stinging and dazed from Matt's very loud, very violent rejection, Peter ends up walking with his bike instead of riding it. He's different now. Matt doesn't know him, doesn't know his heart or his scent anymore. After the problems with the clones, he shouldn't be surprised that Matt is suspicious. Maybe he _should_ be suspicious. But this? This _kills him_, because he has no way of proving himself. Memories can be implanted, some of Matt's enemies know ways of getting around his radar sense, and without the right smell and sound? Of course he seems like an impostor.

Hours ago, Peter was thrilled to be alive. Now he's realizing that, new life or not, someone out there still hated him. No matter how good things are, no matter what wonderful things are given to him, Peter always pays for his good fortune. He just never thought losing Matt would be the price---and _Felicia_, whatever's going on there. He has no idea. The obvious answer is that they're _together_, but it breaks his heart too much to think about.

But Aunt May, who only has her eyes and her gut, will believe him. She has to. So he walks to Queens instead. Anna Watson's car is in the driveway, saying that she either lives here or is visiting. Peter selfishly hopes she doesn't live there and hopes for May's sake that she does; Aunt May must have been so lonely without him.

As he walks up to the door, he feels a gentle mist in the air. The rain is coming, and Peter can think of nothing better than going home to his aunt. Knocking gently, he waits, running his hands through his hair like he can make it perfect for her.

When Aunt May answers the door, Anna Watson is right behind her, stern and skeptical as ever.

"Aunt May," Peter sighs. The rain starts, dripping on the roof of the porch. "I'm home. I'm home."

But May ... she's not coming near him. She looks like she'll cry, but she's staying put. Shaking her head. "Please don't," she says softly, letting Anna put an arm around her.

Peter cocks his head, expression falling. "I don't understand..."

"Matthew called us," Anna says venomously. "He said you would come, trying to worm your way in and take Peter's place. He's dead and gone. Leave her alone."

God damn it, Matt! "Anna---Aunt May, please. Please. Matt doesn't know, he just needs to calm down so I can explain. Don't do this to me." Peter's _begging_, two seconds from getting down on his knees.

"Just get out of here." Anna tightens her grip and May looks away. "Shame on you for harassing an old lady, whatever you are."

And then the door is slammed in his face. Dejected, Peter just _stands there_ for almost a full minute, too shocked to cry.

* * *

Peter is sorely tempted to just sit down in an alley and see what happens. From other people, he could have taken the disbelief, the rejection, but Matt and May? And _Felicia_? All he needs is MJ to come back and tell him he's not real and his life is complete.

He can't go to Betty, not with Ned around. Jonah would just yell. Matt's probably called any of their friends, so superheroes and Ben Urich are out of the question. He isn't left with many options and he feels bad for the one he's about to take, knowing that every involvement with this man ends up all screwed up somehow.

But Peter goes to Dr. Connors' place anyway, thanking God he still lives in the same house. There's a second car in the driveway with Florida plates that Peter doesn't recognize, and he hesitates at first, but he knocks anyway. Don't screw this up, Pete.

Of course, by then it's late and it takes a while, but eventually Connors opens the door. "---Oh my God."

"Dr. Connors. It's me, I'm not fake, pleasedon'tshutthedoor!" Peter pleads. "I'm real, I've had a bad day, and it's raining and now I'm _wet_, I can't take another slammed door, but I'm back, I'm back, it's a miracle, I need to tell someone and I need help, please believe me."

"All right. All right, hang on." Connors takes a deep breath, watching Peter carefully. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Peter. Calm down and come inside, I'll get you a towel."

Peter sighs heavily, unbelievably relieved. "_Thank you._ Thank you so much." He's super aware that he's dripping wet from the rain and hesitates to go very far, stepping in just enough to close the door. "I'm really sorry for the timing, you've got a guest over."

"Oh, no, not at all. She's not a guest." Connors smiles gently, disappearing for a moment and coming back with a beach towel, wrapping it around Peter almost paternally. "Martha came come."

Despite being wet and miserable, Peter _smiles_. "Wow. Congrats, Doc, I'm happy for you."

"Billy's in bed. Come into the kitchen, Martha will get you some clothes."

There's something incredibly warm in the Connors household. Maybe it's because Martha and Billy are back or because Peter is just so damn happy to have someone who believes him. Either way, he follows Connors into the kitchen, wrapped in the beach towel. Martha, who had waited for Curt in the kitchen, promptly drops her coffee.

"Peter...?"

Peter smiles gently. "Hi, Mrs. Connors. Surprise."

Martha laughs in disbelief, going for paper towels to clean up the coffee. "Quite the miracle worker, aren't you?"

"Apparently, but nobody else thinks so." Peter stands awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen until Curt guides him down into a chair with a wet plop.

"Let me get you some clothes that aren't soaking," Curt offers, seeing as his wife is cleaning up the coffee and all. "You hungry?"

"Like you have no idea. I feel like I could eat a horse," Peter answers honestly. "I'm exhausted and hungry and I'm having the worst day of my life----and I haven't even been alive for a whole day yet."

Martha and Curt treat him like he's their son. As if they've just been waiting for him to come home so they can take care of him. It's the kind of treatment he would have gotten with Aunt May, Martha heating up dinner leftovers while Peter dries off and changes into Curt's clothes, which are a bit too big for him.

By the time he sits to eat, relaxed and warm and safe again, he's fighting to stay awake. It's been such a long, crappy day that he doesn't have it in him to do much else. Curt and Martha are just watching him, protective and fascinated. At one point Martha disappears to set up the guest room. When he's done, Curt touches his shoulder, guides him up out of the chair.

"Come on. You can explain all this to us when you've had some good sleep, Peter. Room's right down the hall to your left."

Peter rubs his eyes, nodding wearily. "Thank you, Dr. Connors. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"I think I've got an idea." Curt squeezes his shoulder. "Sleep well."

"You, too." With a last look over his shoulder at the both of them, Peter ambles off to the spare room, asleep almost the second he falls into bed.


	5. The Warmest Part of Winter

Some mornings, Peter wakes up and likes to pretend that this is what life would have been with his parents. He stares at the ceiling and pretends that Curt's name is Richard, that Martha's name is Mary, and that Billy is the little brother he would have had if his parents had lived. He has to imagine that this is what life would have been. Curt and Martha are like a young couple in love, living together again at last; Curt hasn't had a Lizard Man outbreak in well over a year and a half, Billy's eighteen and going to go to college in New York City. At least someone got their happy ending, or so it seems.

Peter's been with the Connors family for a little over a week. He likes it here. He and Curt have been running tests in the labs after hours and Peter has a better understanding of why Matt didn't recognize him: he's _changed_. Peter's (new) heartbeat is unnaturally slow but _strong_. They can't account for scent but his blood's changed in composition. He's less human now and, to be honest, that ... disturbs him. Genetically, he's further from human than he once was and while it's a strange comfort to know why Matt didn't believe him, it's a scary idea.

He's not a mutant. He's not ... anything. He's one of a kind, and not in the quirky sense. It doesn't change who he is mentally, and it's not as if he's planning on having children anytime soon, but it hurts deep down in a way that Peter doesn't know how to account for.

* * *

Peter still doesn't have any ID, but he goes shopping for the Connors family. He doesn't want to be locked up in the house and hiding from the world, so he volunteers for any little errands they want done.

No one's recognized him yet. He's gotten a passing look once, possibly twice, but most people don't look that close. It's not as if they expect him to be walking around, either. So while Curt is in the lab, Peter's out, and ... he's kind of enjoying the freedom. Everything looks brighter, smells better. He's not thinking about where he goes from here, how he gets his life back. He can't let himself think that way or he'll go crazy.

He's still using Elliot Harrison's bike. Better than letting it rust, right? New York is a pain in the ass to navigate from the ground no matter _what_, but he can't risk webslinging right now. It's still good practice for the new reflexes, avoiding being killed (again) by cars and pedestrians alike. The traffic on the ground is so clogged that it actually takes Peter a while to realize that it's actually backing up.

That's when he looks up and sees the smoke. People are clogging up the street and Peter climbs off the bike to walk instead. At first, it just seems like a regular car accident, blocking the road. Some people are crying, more than one is on their cell phone.

There are sirens in the distance, but they're too far off. The closer Peter gets, the worse it looks. It's not just two cars, it's three---four---more than that. It's a pile up and now he can hear the screaming is coming from the cars.

"Welcome back," he mutters to himself. Ditching the bike outside a flower shop, Peter jogs to get closer, pushing his way through the crowd that's amassed just to _look_. Some things never change, do they? "Excuse me---sorry, can I just get through here? Thanks---"

Most are just watching, but there's a man in the middle of the cars. He's crying hysterically, pushing at an overturned car that's barely budging. The car is crushed, twisted and angled in such a way that his hands are cut as he pushes. "I'm coming! I can hear the sirens; you'll be fine, I promise, they'll be here."

Peter's reaction is like instinct. Pushing his way out of the crowd, he climbs over the wreckage. "Sir---?" Under the wrecked car is a woman, her dark hair singed and obscuring her face. She's struggling, but ... not much. "Sir, let me. Please."

The man looks up at Peter, eyes red and puffy. "Who are you? Where's the ambulance---?!"

"It's okay." This is probably a bad idea, to be jumping in like this. Every piece of selfishness in him is telling him to keep his head down, keep his nose out of it, but this woman is dying and the man is crying so hard he's shaking. Peter pries him away from the car, as easily as if the man were a kitten despite his struggling and shoving.

The man is still shouting as he's pulled away. Peter tunes him out, reaching down to grab the car. The torn metal digs into his hands, but doesn't break his skin, even when he starts to _lift_ it.

It's lighter than he expected---that, or he really is stronger. The car groans as he lifts it into the air, held up over Peter's head. The man is staring, sounding as if he's hyperventilating, and Peter shouts, "Listen! Sirens! They're almost here. Do something for me!"

"---What? Do something for ... who the hell are you?!"

"Stop with the questions! That car over there: look inside, see if there's someone in it!" Peter indicates with his head to a car that's irrevocably totaled.

"I can't---what? I don't---_why_?!" The man is frozen in place, torn between running away and running to the woman and just keeling over on the spot. Peter sighs. He can't hold this car forever and can't move the woman without risking injuring her some more.

And then: "There's no one."

Peter looks over----and there's Felicia, watching him with glassy eyes. Matt's nowhere in sight.

"There's no one in the car," she repeats.

Peter swallows, gathering his wits. "...Thank you." And then he tosses the car in his hands. It lands squarely on top of the other with a metallic crunch. The people around it shrink back, and one gasps, cradling his bloody arm against his chest.

"That was my car!" the man says helplessly.

"You weren't gonna drive it again, anyway," Felicia snaps. "He's clearing the road for the ambulance. That's worth more than your car!"

"Stop it!" Peter calls. "He just got into a car accident. Stop it!" Felicia falls into silence as Peter runs to check the other cars. Nobody really moves. Nobody really knows what to say. Most of the people in the accident have vacated their cars or been pulled out by other passengers and are waiting for the ambulance on the sidewalk.

The ambulances arrive a few long, painful minutes later. Peter looks up for Felicia---and she's gone. _Damn it!_ But maybe it's the crowd, maybe she's just lost, and Peter disentangles himself from the throng, going back to find his bike.

...And that's gone, too. Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. "Someone stole my bike," he mutters. "Someone _stole_ my _bike_. This is not my day..."

"You sure about that, Spider?" Peter _jumps_ when he hears her voice, before a wave of relief washes over him. Felicia's leaning against the front window of the flower shop, even if he doesn't remember hearing her walk toward him. Her stance is uncomfortable, and it's clear she's trying to look much more relaxed than she is.

"_Felicia_." He isn't sure if he can move, so Felicia does it for him, giving up the facade and throwing herself into his arms. She's picked up effortlessly, swung around at least once, twice.

Pulling back, Felicia kisses him hard on the mouth---and he kisses her back, hands buried in her hair. He's not thinking about Matt, and it's not about lust. They're hard, grateful kisses, and people passing are making disgusted noises and speeding up as they go. Eventually the kisses break and Peter holds her too tight for comfort, though she doesn't push him away.

"You believe me," he says, cautious.

"Of course I do. I _know you_, Pete," Felicia replies, emphatic. "Where are you staying? I know Matt called everyone---"

"Connors. Matt doesn't know Connors, they're letting me stay. I'm safe." Peter pulls back, holding her face in his hands. "Let's get out of here. We need to talk."

"We do." It's the closest Peter's ever seen Felicia come to crying, and he can't tell if he's grateful for the sight of her or if it makes him uncomfortable.

So they leave. They end up at Felicia's, they make coffee, and Felicia tells Peter what he missed. About the massive funeral, who said what---what _Matt_ said. That MJ had come back for a while and then left because it was too painful. It turns out that she and Matt have been together (ish) for a few months now, and that they're ... kind of honest.

That sometimes Matt wakes up and calls her Peter, and that sometimes she does the same to him. Afterward, they usually don't talk until the end of the day. It's how they mourn, and they're still mourning. Peter's heart breaks.

They hold each other to convince themselves that this is real and Peter worries that he's bruising her. For a long time, there's silence, and Felicia shakes like she's crying. Peter rocks her, holding her to him and staring over her head, out the window.

And then, shattering the silence: "Do you love Matt?"

Felicia hesitates, looking up at him with a strange expression. Like he's completely missed some kind of point she's been trying to make. "No. No, we're not like that."

Peter pauses, pulling back apologetically. Oh, right, good listening ears, Parker. "I want to go home," he says lamely. "You believe me. You have to---I _need you_, Felicia."

Felicia fidgets, her expression nebulous. "You need me." She lets that sit on her tongue for a moment. "You want me to help convince everyone you're real."

"Yes."

She grins and it's all teeth. That familiar, mischievous spark that he fell in love with is back in her eyes. "Of course, Spider. I'll even help you get your boyfriend back while I'm at it."


End file.
